The poems I wrote for you weren’t from my heart,
They were lies I crafted in a form of art;
Endless promises that were meant to be broken
Absence of meaning of words well-chosen;
Sugarcoated verses of dishonesty,
Expressions of love lacking sincerity.

Dreams I had for us were all but make-believe
Opposite of a life I badly want to live.

Never be swayed by how I make words dance and sing,
Ours is a story I penned with no happy ending;
Take it from me for tragedy is my thing.

Place a curse on me for being so untrue,
Every piece I’ve written has been inspired by someone else, not you;
Leave me or hate me but I have nothing to regret,
In my life, you’re just someone I can easily forget;
Efforts you’ve witnessed were all but deception—
Villainous acts I fulfilled with no hint of contrition;
Evil I may be but I don’t care about your emotion.

These are all the truth behind my imposture:
Heartless writer who deserves condemnation and censure;
In wordplay he’s a deceiver,
Secretly conveying a message through a cryptic cipher.

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